


Tears in Rain

by Patcho418



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, She-Ra Pride Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: For the She-Ra Pride Exchange! My giftee was tumblr user @catradorian, I hope you like it!





	Tears in Rain

**Author's Note:**

> For the She-Ra Pride Exchange! My giftee was tumblr user @catradorian, I hope you like it!

Time moves fast, and by the time they’re fourteen, Catra’s already figured out Adora’s favourite place to go.

A balcony, rickety and in desperate need of maintenance, just outside of the Horde’s cadet barracks. Catra sees her wandering off there sometimes, looks of contentedness or looks of worry on her face when she does, and one day her curiosity gets the better of her.

She finds Adora there, hidden beneath a sheet of thick metal as heavy drops of rain fall around her; her brow is knit tightly, and her lips are pursed, a shine of sickly green reflecting off of her skin. Further in the distance, dense clouds obscure the dark sky of the Fright Zone and blanket it in their oppressive misery.

Catra takes a cautious step forward; she’s not trying to sneak up on her friend, of course, but surely one wrong step and the grating underneath her will give way and send her falling far below. The metal groans lightly beneath her, and immediately Adora’s eyes snap over to her.

“Stop, Catra!” she exclaims anxiously, and Catra does as she’s told, albeit a little bitterly.

“What, Adora?”

Adora points to the clouds. “It’s acid rain. You’ll have to come under here with me.”

Catra pauses, just now noticing how the droplets sink into the metal of the balcony with small, sinister hisses. She frowns as she makes her way underneath the thick canopy protecting them from the rain, though she can’t really help herself from wondering if it’ll be enough.

Adora shuffles over and makes room for her to sit, though her focus remains on the clouds ahead. Silence settles between them as Catra takes a seat, curling her tail around her knees as she pulls them close to her chest. She can’t really help herself from wondering what Adora’s even doing out here in the middle of such a dangerous shower.

“Why here?”

Adora hums inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, Adora, don’t play dumb.” Adora’s perplexed silence is enough for Catra to groan out the rest of her question. “Why do you keep coming here? And why come here when it’s, like, raining acid or whatever?”

Another hum sounds from Adora, though this time it’s more subdued, more thoughtful, more forlorn. “It’s got a good view of everything.”

Catra has to stifle her derisive laughter, though she doesn’t exactly do the best job of it. “What’s there even to get a good view of? The Fright Zone is trash!”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Adora manages through a giggle. “But maybe one day I’ll see something worth seeing. Maybe one day it won’t be so bad.”

*

Time moves fast, and when Adora thinks back to her days in the Horde she realises it’s been a year since she left it.

There are for sure things she doesn’t miss: even on her more nostalgic days, she’s grateful for softer beds, better food, and a clear sky shimmering above her head. She’s grateful for the fields of green and pink and blue outside of Brightmoon that offer a sense of freedom instead of the foreboding nature of the Fright Zone’s greys and blacks and reds.

And, of course, she’s extremely grateful for her new friends in the Princess Alliance. Never did she think that she could find herself surrounded by people who love and appreciate her the way Bow, Glimmer, and the others do, not blaming her for her mistakes or chastising her for her weaknesses or belittling her for her feelings. Living in Brightmoon—living with them—feels fresh and clean and freeing, and when she thinks back to her days in the Horde she doesn’t think she could ever go back; rather, she knows she never would.

But even with all this happiness and love in her life, she knows it’s not complete. Despite everything, she still feels a part of her missing, left behind with her old life—

_Catra._

A chill overtakes her; clearly she must’ve left the window open. She stands from her bed and moves to close it, and that name persists in her head.

_Catra._

How can a name—a single _word_ —feel both happy and sad at the same time? How can it clutch at her heart like ice yet rest in her throat like a song? Why does it hurt just to think of her oldest friend, her greatest enemy, her—

_Catra._

And the window swings open again. Adora jumps back, yelping in surprise as she reaches for the dagger she keeps at her bedside.

As her breathing settles, she notices the first few drops of rain now falling against the wood of the windows, accompanied by a strong wind and grey clouds: a storm. Nothing, of course, like what happened months ago when the Horde invaded Brightmoon, but she can’t help but be on edge now when it storms.

The door behind her swings open. “Adora?”

Adora turns and, seeing Bow with a very anxious look on his face, sheathes her dagger. “Sorry,” she says bashfully, though she knows Bow won’t hold it against her. “Storm just spooked me.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bow offers comfortingly as he steps past her towards the window. Adora watches, her fists still clenched, as he pushes forcefully against the windows and inspecting the lock to make sure they won’t fly open again. He takes a step back. “It doesn’t rain often in Brightmoon. Is this your first storm?”

“No, We used to have them all the time in the Fright Zone.” She pauses, then adds with an air of realisation: “Ours were probably a lot more deadly, though. You guys don’t have acid rain here, right?”

Bow frowns incredulously. “Does everything in the Fright Zone try and kill you?”

_Catra._

Another shiver. Adora frowns, bringing her shoulders up to try and hide her expression from her friend. She’s probably not doing a fantastic job of it, though, as Bow approaches her and puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, bringing it down slightly.

“You don’t have to worry. Sure, it’s all rumbly and gloomy now, but storms like this will be good for the land, you know!” Adora can’t be sure, but with how he says this, and how he’s spoken to her before, she thinks he might know something else is up. Then, as if to lighten the mood in his oh-so-typically Bow way, he steps back and waves his hands excitedly. “Besides, it means we can make cocoa and blanket tents! Glimmer and I used to do that all the time during storms.”

“Blanket tents?” Adora questions, imagining blankets not being the best rain-repellant material to make a tent out of.

Bow grabs Adora’s wrist and pulls her away from the window. “Yeah! You go find Glimmer and some extra blankets, I’ll grab the cocoa, and we’ll meet back here? It’ll be great!”

Adora nods; the thunder rumbling behind them should be reminding her of danger, of cold shivers and heartache.

She can’t help but think that Bow’s right about storms being good.

*

Time moves fast, but Catra can’t exactly remember how much time has passed since she abandoned the Horde. A month, two months, three? She’s absolutely forgotten.

What she hasn’t forgotten is how messy leaving the Horde was. How could she forget that pathetic look in Scorpia’s eyes, as if Catra couldn’t take care of herself? Or that annoyingly innocent smile on Entrapta’s face as if she hadn’t ratted her out to Hordak. And Hordak? Oh, she’ll _never_ forget the fury in his voice after she clawed three lines across his face. Once, she’d have been terrified of him; after learning he wasn’t invincible—wasn’t untouchable—that fear absolutely subsided.

Catra moves away from the damaged skiff she’s set up as a shelter in the Whispering Woods (she’s learned not to fear them, either) and makes her way stealthily through the falling rain to where she’s sure she heard some kind of small animal or something. Her talons extend from her fingertips and she ducks into the cover of a bush, tilting her head to try and pick up that sound again, despite how hard it is with the rain hammering against leaves and trunks around her.

Nothing.

She frowns and tries to listen more attentively.

Still nothing.

She growls and tilts her head higher.

“Adora, I’m soaked! Can we hurry this up, please?”

She ducks back into the bush immediately; she’d recognize Glitter or Glimmer or whatever’s annoying, whiny tone from miles away, and…and she’d said…

_Adora._

Catra’s almost forgotten what fear feels like.

Slowly, she peeks her head above the bush again to try and spot them. Catra would absolutely rather avoid being anywhere _near_ them, near the people that took her best friend away, near the people who would rather see her thrown in a prison in Brightmoon than anything else.

Near the girl she’s so absolutely afraid of still.

She watches intently as they make their way around a large tree, and Adora seems to be searching intently for something. Catra shivers away a thought, afraid that it might be true, and slinks back into the bush. It’s raining, so the trees will probably be way too slick to climb. The undergrowth is thick, so booking it would take a lot more concentration than she’s used to. They’re getting closer, and Catra knows it’s now or never so why the heck is she freezing up?

_Adora._

Catra leaps from the bush, the fear grasping at her chest the only thing propelling her away from the group. Behind her she can hear shuffling, the readying of an arrow, and she tries to block out the way her name is called.

Booking it definitely was not the smartest of plans, though, and where normally she’d be able to make a quick escape from those rebel idiots, the combination of fear, exhaustion, hunger, and thick roots and vines covering the ground slow her down just enough for—

_Adora._

Catra slides across the wet forest floor, her foot suddenly throbbing in pain. She hisses as she tries to roll onto her knees, but she stops before she can move, a figure standing several feet too close to her causing her to freeze up.

“Catra!” And Adora is immediately on her knees before her, reaching out with worry.

“Get away!” And Catra kicks at her hand. Adora recoils, giving Catra a moment to crawl backwards, but she doesn’t make it far on the muddy ground beneath her. A look crosses Adora’s face for a moment, fleeting, and Catra can’t decide if she wants to scream at her or apologize for lashing out.

Adora’s friends are soon at her side, but to Catra’s immediate surprise she waves them away with a slow motion and accompanied by ‘it’s okay’ and ‘I have this’. God, Catra despises how Glimmer glares daggers at her as the two rebels make a cautious exit.

Catra wishes she could leave, too.

Once they’re gone, Adora looks her over intently, and Catra forgets how she used to go still in quiet moments like this, with Adora so focused on her and only her. She’s not used to it—oh she’s so not used to it—and part of her keeps screaming at her, begging her to run, to flee.

“What do you want?” Catra challenges, avoiding looking at Adora by focusing on how the rain falls against her jacket.

There’s a pause, neither cold nor comfortable, but rather cautious, a taut rope between them that pulls hesitantly either way. Adora swallows. “I heard what you did in the Fright Zone. We all did. And, well…Catra, you can’t live like this! On the run from everyone.”

“I’m doing just fine, actually,” is Catra’s forced rebuttal, and it’d likely be more convincing if she weren’t covered in scratches and bruises and at the mercy of her anxieties. Then, because she has a reputation to uphold and a mask to keep up (despite how the guilt immediately clings to her throat): “No thanks to you.”

But there’s no twinge of frustration or annoyance or hurt on her friend’s face; maybe it’s how the rain obscures the finer details in her expression, or maybe Adora’s been playing rebel soldier for so long she’s forgotten how to feel that hurt. Of course it only makes Catra want to run away more.

“I’m sorry, Catra. If I could’ve helped sooner, I would have.”

“Stop that.” Catra grumbles, just barely letting Adora finish her forced, shallow apology. “Stop lying to me and to yourself.”

Now Adora seems hurt.

_Run, idiot!_

She doesn’t. She steels herself against the ground, her claws gripping into the softened dirt as she prepares to fight back—she’s always having to fight back, and even with Adora it’ll be no different: Catra’s faced storms before.

“I’m not lying, Catra. I’ve talked to Queen Angella, and you’d be allowed refuge in Brightmoon.” Her expression softens, then falls, then is broken by a faint smirk. “You wouldn’t have to fight, either.”

_Run!_

“Who says I’m done fighting?” Catra sneers as her grip tightens and her legs seize. “I’m not done yet, not until everyone stops lying to themselves about what’s really going on!”

“Catra—”

“Why don’t you get that I’m not going with you! I’m not gonna follow you to Brightmoon and just accept that as my life!”

_Run!_

Her grip tightens futher. Her legs feel like lead. Her eyes sting with tears lost among the drops of rain streaming down her cheeks.

“How could you even want me back after everything I’ve done to you?”

If words could stop time, these ones felt like those words. They escape her mouth in a desperate, scared scream laced with rejection and vitriol, and they linger like something pulling at her heart, floating in the back of her mind like a curse.

After everything Catra has done to Adora, to her friends, to the Rebellion, how can Adora still not hate her?

And time does still between them, as if the universe itself is awaiting an answer. As if Adora’s response, her judgement, will set things in motion again but until then keeps them locked together, here, lost in the moment and soaked by rain.

“We’ve both done things we’re probably not proud of,” Adora begins, and Catra dreads the sickness in her stomach, warning her of another hollow speech. Adora closes her eyes, exhales, continues. “We both have things to make up for. I’m starting with you.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t regret leaving the Horde. But I regret leaving you.” Adora stands slowly and leans over Catra, her hand extended outwards. “I want to help you, now that I can.”

For now, Catra doesn’t need to run. She’s tired of running, and she’s tired of being scared of someone who she knows could very well hurt her again. No doubt Catra still has doubts, has fears. She still knows that the moment she’s told to run again, she may very well just do it, but for now she doesn’t need to.

Adora’s hand is warm despite the weather, and she’s pulled up with ease. She frowns, averting her eyes from Adora but not pulling out of her grasp (some anchors are a little less intense).

“This rain should clear up soon,” Adora notes.

Catra purses her lips, considers her offer first before speaking it. “I have a tent nearby. We can wait it out there for a bit.”

Adora nods and Catra leads the way, her own hand still anchored to the soft hold of Adora’s.


End file.
